


Love’s so cold (when your hands don’t dance)

by tictactoews



Series: Figure Skating AU [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Get Together, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tictactoews/pseuds/tictactoews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers on Ice, or: how to put those skin-tight onesies to better use. In other words, a figure skating AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elton John’s “Love So Cold”
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. No profit is being made.

The only thing Tony wanted to do when he came back home after tanking yet another Grand Prix Final was get drunk and stuffed on pizza, even though it was still the middle of the season. Screw that, he’s allowed one moment of indulgence.

One night of not giving a fuck, that was all he needed.

He was not mentally or in any other way prepared for Fury showing up on his doorstep with Steve fucking Rogers in tow, saying “Tony, we need to talk” in an ominous tone.

Oh, how Tony hates these words.

He feels an overwhelming urge to shut the door right in their faces, but he knows better than that. His coach might not entirely be living up to his last name, but he has the power to reduce Tony to a sore, whimpering mass of muscles in a subtle and professional manner during just one training session. So, Tony decides to keep his attitude in check and invites them with a gesture into his apartment. He makes a point of kicking his still unpacked suitcase out of the way when he leads them into the kitchen.

“Coffee? Juice?” he offers, pressing the button of his state-of-the-art coffee machine. His place might be a dump in every other way, but he has priorities. “Sorry, Rogers, I don’t have any of that organic shit you like, but you can always have water.”

“It’s okay,” Rogers says, and these are the first words he’s uttered since Tony saw him this evening.

“Sit down, Tony,” Fury says, ignoring the offered beverages. “We need to talk.”

“I saw you not even two hours ago at the airport. Couldn’t you have told me whatever it is on a plane?”

“I thought it’d be better if Steve was there when we talk. This concerns him, too.”

Tony comes to sit with them at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of top-notch coffee. If they didn’t want any, their loss. “What is he even doing here, anyway? Last time I checked he lived in Toronto.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” Rogers exclaims with a frown.

“I know you are, Captain Canada,” Tony says, patting one of Steve’s hands. Rogers jerks his hand away and narrows his eyes at Tony.

“You know damn well that I’m a born and raised New Yorker,” Rogers says through gritted teeth.

“And he’s back home to kick ass and take names,” Fury sums up. “Tony, say hi to your new training partner.”

Tony turns his head so fast it almost gives him whiplash. “The what now?” he asks eloquently, which earns him a snort from Rogers.

“Steve didn’t think that his cooperation with his former coach had been working out, so he asked me to help him get his career back on track. As of tomorrow, I will be coaching you both, so you better learn to get along as I’m not opposed to wiping the ice with your faces if necessary.”

Dammit. How can this man be so scary while sounding so breezy?

“Nick, you know I don’t play well with others,” Tony tries, even though he already knows he’s fighting a lost battle.

“You will have different training hours. Unless I want you to share the ice for an hour or two for mutual motivation, but both of you will be extremely okay with that, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Rogers replies briskly and boy, did he miss his calling in life.

“That’s great, Steve, but I did ask you to call me Nick. We are neither in school nor in the Army.”

“Yes… Nick.” Rogers concedes with a small smile.

“Good. Tony?”

“Will my opinion change anything?”

“Not even a tiny bit.”

“Then I’m delighted to have Steve on my team,” Tony said with a wide, bright smile that he hoped looked just as fake as it really was.

“Good, because he’ll be working with Phil, too,” Fury says, and now even the fake smile disappears from Tony’s face.

“What? He already has programs for this season! What does he need my choreographer for?”

Rogers clears his throat. “I’m still here, Stark.”

This is getting annoying.

“And I need him because my programs need some tweaks. My knee is still acting up. I didn’t skip the Grand Prix because I was lazy, you know,” Rogers adds.

“Could have fooled me,” Tony murmurs and finishes the last sip of his coffee. In hindsight, he didn’t even need the caffeine, his blood pressure is off the charts anyway thanks to these lovely homecoming revelations.

“We’re all in agreement, then. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning at the rink, eight o’clock sharp.”

“Both of us?”

“Yes, Tony, both of you. Just tomorrow, so we can figure out a system that works for both of you.”

Tony doesn’t reply, just sighs heavily. It seems to be enough for Fury, though, because he gets up and walks out of the kitchen. “Come on, Steve, let’s get you checked into the hotel. And you, Stark – get some goddamn sleep.”

“You don’t have a place yet?” Tony asks Steve as he follows Fury out into the hall. Not that he cares, just curious.

“No, it was a… fairly spontaneous decision. I just arrived today.” Steve explains, gracefully stepping over Tony’s suitcase that’s still laying discarded on the floor.

“Oh. Right. Well then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Tony,” Steve says, looking at Tony over his shoulder and giving him a small smile.

“Huh.” Tony says to the closed door.

**

Tony is, as always, fashionably late. He’s not even expecting Fury to pay any attention to that, but he utters a casual apology anyway as he steps onto the ice with a Starbucks cup in one hand, the other fumbling with the lace of his skate. If he doesn’t end up on his face while doing all that, well then, that’s just sheer talent.

“Sorry, Nick! Had to stop for coffee,” he shouts, raising the cup towards his coach. Rogers is of course already on the ice, skating slowly with Coulson and apparently discussing a step sequence.

Fury rolls his… well, eye. That right there is exactly why Tony went into single skating instead of pairs – side-by-side spins can be damn dangerous and he doesn’t want anyone’s blade near his face.

“Is there any point in asking if you had anything resembling breakfast and didn’t just roll out of bed and sleepwalk to the nearest coffee shop?” Fury asks.

“Nope,” Tony replies cheerfully, drinks the rest of his latte and hands the empty cup to Fury, who takes it automatically.

Rogers skates over to Tony while he’s stretching by the board. “You’re training on an empty stomach? You know that’s not good for you, right?”

“Don’t worry, mom” Tony says wryly, and seriously, what does this guy even care. He doesn’t even like Tony. “It has milk, it has sugar, and it has caffeine. Basic food groups covered. See? I’m fine,” Tony says, then accelerates away and launches into a triple toe loop, not at all for show. He barely manages not to fall.

“Tony! Hold your horses with the jumps, we have tons of stuff to work on before we get to that.”

Tony spins around and skates over to where the rest of the team is standing, including Steve, who’s watching him with one eyebrow raised.

“Fine, let me have it,” Tony says, resigned, when he stops in front of Fury. “What did I fuck up more than usual on Saturday?”

Steve looks away, and gestures for Coulson to follow him to the other side of the rink. He thinks Tony didn’t notice.

“You didn’t fuck up, Tony. You skated clean. If you hadn’t popped that triple axel you would have medaled.”

“You just told me to stop practicing jumps!”

“No, I told you not to rush and skip to the middle of the training, you’ll burn out too fast. And anyway, I was thinking that today we’d have a nice, low-key session, just to let you and Steve work out a dynamic.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler if we just didn’t train at the same time?”

“You will be training separately, I just think a bit of healthy rivalry will be good for the both of you. You need to keep your head in the game for the Nationals, and Steve needs to get back in the game, period.”

“Okay, sounds reasonable enough. So what do we do?”

Fury calls Rogers and Coulson over all the way from the other end of a rink, where Coulson was showing Steve some steps.

“I was thinking we could start with nice, easy run-throughs of your long programs. With the music. Just… don’t overdo it. We’re not aiming for jumps today, so take it easy, double the triples, and don’t overexert yourselves. Phil will observe and figure out what to tweak in your programs, and by that I mean mostly Steve. You have strong jumps and crazy spins, boy, but your artistry needs serious work. You go first.”

Steve just nods, a determined look in his eyes, and skates over to the center of the ice. His music starts, slow but powerful tones of the piano, and Steve is gone, a completely focused expression on his face and carefully calculated moves. He doesn’t relax till the end of the run-through, and it might just be the memory of the injury that kept him away from the ice for the better part of the past year, but Fury is right – that boy has to relax and let go to sell this program. Or any program.

He doesn’t look happy when he skates up to the border to give Tony some space on the ice. He steps off the surface, puts blade guards on his skates and sits down, right there on the floor, wincing as he carefully lowers his left leg.

Then it’s Tony’s turn. He closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him as he skates, the steps and moves he now knows by heart and while he really, really intended to listen to Fury this time, he gets lost in the momentum and launches into a combination of two triple jumps that sends him sprawling across the ice.

He lies there, angry at himself, as he listens to Fury berate him once again.

“Goddamnit, Tony, you can’t just win everything by force. Jesus Christ, I’m going to go nuts with you two. That’s it, enough for today, go home. Tony, you sort out your attitude, and Steve, you take care of that knee. Phil and I are going to sit down and go over your programs without you. Now, scram!”

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve says, sitting on a bench in the locker room as Tony comes out of the shower in nothing but a towel around his hips. Steve is shirtless, still wearing his practice pants, and he’s gently massaging his left knee.

“Do you, now?” Tony pretends to be interested as he sheds the towel and puts his clothes on. If Rogers insists on just sitting around he might as well enjoy the show.

Except he’s not watching, his gaze fixed on the tiles of the floor, cheeks flushed slightly.

Interesting.

“Yes. You want an Olympic medal.”

Tony shoots him an incredulous look. “Don’t we all?”

“Yeah, but we don’t all have fathers who won two gold medals in a row. But Tony, you can’t force it. You’ll get hurt. Trust me, I know.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony says lightly, even though his throat feels suddenly tight. He storms out of the locker room, then turns around on a second thought and takes out an ice pack from a freezer in the corridor.

He walks by the open locker room door, and when he tosses the ice pack at Rogers he makes sure it hits him squarely on the chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony doesn’t see Steve for the next two weeks. Their training hours are so carefully arranged around each other that they don’t even cross paths in the locker room. Which, obviously, is good. It gives Tony time and space to focus on his skating instead of being constantly annoyed. With only four weeks till Nationals, Tony can’t afford to be constantly distracted. Or to share his coach’s time with another skater, which is why he’s glad that Fury ditched the ridiculous idea of putting both of them on the ice for “healthy rivalry.” The only kind of rivalry that counts in figure skating is the one that includes only you, your music, and the ice. And most importantly – not psyching yourself out by watching other competitors before your performance. Or your training, for that matter, and that’s why Tony is glad that he never sees Steve in the locker room after his session and before Tony’s. He doesn’t need to see how Fury’s new golden boy is doing. And he doesn’t, not once.

Up until the day when he walks into the locker room to see Rogers slumped forward on the bench, with Fury and Coulson on both their sides, discussing something seemingly problematic. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Coulson says in a soothing voice, his hand awkwardly patting Steve’s shoulder. “Maybe you could ask one of the girls to help you out?”

“I can’t ask anyone to do that!” Steve exclaims, looking at Coulson with desperation in his eyes.

That seems to be an interesting conversation Tony just walked in on.

“Can’t ask anyone to do what?” he asks casually, entering the locker room. Steve’s eyes snap up to him. Is that just Tony’s imagination or are Rogers’ eyes a tiny bit red-rimmed? Not that he cares.

“Nothing,” Steve dismisses. “I have some… accommodation problems. And sponsor problems. And the two are related. I can’t stay in the hotel or get a place of my own.”

“Don’t you have a friend you could crash with?” Tony offers helpfully, taking his skates out of his duffel bag and putting them on. He always comes to the rink already wearing his practice clothes, it saves a lot of time.

“Rent free? I don’t think so.” Steve shakes his head. “Until I get back on the ice and gain some new sponsors I won’t be able to pay anything.” Steve’s hand travels up to his eyes, and yes, those might be tears he’s trying to surreptitiously wipe away.

Tony might be an occasional asshole, but he’s not that strong in his resolve.

“Hey, easy. That’s not the end of the world. You can stay with me.”

Steve looks up abruptly. Fury raises his eyebrow. Coulson gives Tony a discrete thumbs-up.

“Really?” Steve asks, sounding as if Tony just asked him to marry him. 

Tony shrugs and finishes lacing his skates. “Sure, why not. I have a couch.”

“Tony, I… thank you,” Steve says and gives Tony a smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen it before. It’s… not unpleasant. “I will pay you back, I promise. For everything.”

“Eh, don’t worry about that. Just make me pancakes once in a while and we’re good,” Tony says with a smirk as he gets up from the bench. Steve stands up, too, and starts moving towards Tony. He stops dead in his tracks when Tony lifts up a finger in a warning gesture. “Hug me and the deal is off,” he says, and Steve huffs out a laugh.

**

Living with Rogers is easier than Tony expected. In fact, it’s not much different from living without him, except now there’s actual food in his fridge and apparently, Steve has assumed cooking duties.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Tony says when he wakes up yet again to find breakfast waiting on an impeccably set kitchen table, complete with a steaming mug of fresh coffee.

“I know, but I don’t mind. Really, it’s not that different from making food just for myself. And it’s the least I can do, so shut up and enjoy,” Steve says and tosses Tony an apple. Tony catches it with one hand and hides his smile behind the mug he’s holding in the other.

Food is the only area when Steve’s presence in Tony’s apartment is making itself visible. He goes to sleep only after Tony clears out of the living room, and is already up by the time Tony wakes up. He never speaks when Tony looks busy, and always keeps a careful distance between them. It’s like he’s trying to make himself scarce, which, considering his build and the microscopic size of Tony’s apartment, is quite a challenge.

After a few days they manage to work out a comfortable routine full of unspoken rules. Each of them goes around their own business, and Tony finds with surprise that he’s not only not annoyed at Steve’s constant presence, but he actually finds his quiet and unimposing company reassuring.

Go figure.

A week into their new domestic arrangement, Tony wakes up in the middle of the night. On his way back from the bathroom, he passes the living room and notices that Steve is not asleep. Tony hears a deep sight and rustling of the covers as Steve moves restlessly under them, and that is definitely none of Tony’s business, so he walks back to his bedroom intending to leave Steve alone.

Except that before he reaches his room he hears the unmistakable rattle of a bottle of painkillers. Tony doubles back and pokes his head into the living room.

“You okay?” He asks. Steve is half sitting up on the couch, one hand on his bad knee, the other holding an almost empty glass of water. A small reading lamp by the armrest is the only source of light in the room, casting a soft glow on one side of Steve’s face.

“Trouble sleeping. Nothing new.” Steve explains in a hushed voice, even though there’s nobody but the two of them in the apartment.

Tony winces sympathetically. “Your knee again? I didn’t know. I thought it was okay now.” he says, still standing in the doorway.

“It is. Most of the time. But when I push myself too hard, or… or fall down a lot, then it hurts. I’ll be fine, I just have to wait for the painkiller to kick in,” Steve says, closing his eyes and reclining back on the couch with a wince. 

Tony doesn’t know what it is: the late hour, the dim, peaceful light, the unhappy set of Steve’s mouth or the memory of past injuries that used to keep Tony up at night not once and not twice during his career. Whatever it is, he knows he’s not going back to sleep now.

He pushes himself off the door frame he’s been leaning against and walks into the living room, then picks up the green ottoman that’s been sitting on the other side of the coffee table and places it in front of Steve. “Here, put your leg on this,” he suggests, and Steve does as he’s told.

“Thanks,” he whispers, but Tony is already across the room, turning on the TV and looking through the DVDs on the shelf.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks. Steve just looks at him, confused. “You’re in pain, you pick the movie, since neither of us is going to sleep right now and I refuse to sit in silence.” Tony clarifies.

“You should go back to sleep. I don’t want to keep you up, you have practice.” Steve says, the stubborn bastard that he is. If he doesn’t cut it out in the next ten seconds, Tony’s done trying to make nice.

“So do you. Now shut up and pick the movie.”

And surprisingly enough, Steve does. They settle on _The Sting_ , because good classics are never a bad choice. Tony puts in the DVD and turns around, eyeing the couch Steve is sitting on and the nearby armchair, weighing his options.

 _Screw it_ , he thinks eventually. “Scoot over,” he says to Steve, plopping down on the couch beside him. “And give me half a blanket, I’m cold.”

Steve just smiles at him softly as he throws a blanket over Tony and sinks back into the cushions. After a minute, Tony feels an elbow press into his side for a split second.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, but Tony doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the TV screen.

 

Tony wakes up to someone poking him gently on the shoulder.

“Tony, wake up, I have practice, I need to get up.”

“Whaaa-” Tony mumbles, opening his eyes, and his brain starts to slowly register the surroundings. He’s still on the couch, he must have fallen asleep during the movie. He’s sprawled on his stomach across half of the length of the couch, his face pressed against Steve’s side and his arm thrown across Steve’s hips.

Huh. That’s new.

Tony scrambles up and off the couch, rubbing at his eyes and trying to remember what exactly was he thinking and how did he end up cuddling with Steve Rogers for the better part of the night.

Steve looks up at him from the couch, apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up, but I have an eight o’clock practice. You should go back to sleep.”

“You should have woken me up earlier,” Tony says. “And sorry for the…” he gestures in the general direction of the mess of tangled blankets on the couch, in the spot when he just slept. Steve’s cheeks pink slightly at that.

What is the world Tony has woken up in. He needs coffee, and he needs it now.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony is torn between never speaking about that night again and thanking Steve for not giving him shit about it. Although he really should have woken Tony up – sleeping in a half-sitting position with an aching leg and another person sprawled over him couldn’t have been comfortable. And yet he didn’t, all because he didn’t want Tony to lose any more sleep because of Steve. Probably. Why else?  
Tony might have seriously underestimated Steve.

In hindsight, he can’t even remember why he and Steve didn’t get along in the first place. Sure, there’s the rivalry factor, but Tony is friends with plenty of other skaters.

Oh wait, no. Romanova and Barton are pairs skaters, Foster and Odinson are ice dancers, and Potts and Hill are obviously ladies. Is he friends with anyone who’s actually competing in his category? Loki is not the best example, but there must be someone. Oh, that’s right, Banner! There we go, Tony can be somebody’s friend AND rival at the same time. Maybe there’s hope for Rogers yet.

So later that day, when Tony goes to the rink, he fully intends to try being less of an asshole and more of a sort-of kind-of friend-type person to Steve. He encounters the first test of this resolve when he enters the locker room only to find Steve sitting on the bench with an ice pack over his knee and tears rolling down his cheeks.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Nick!” he shouts as he runs toward the rink, not even bothering to put on skates. “Just what the hell are you thinking?” he asks, breathless, as he stops in front of confused Fury.

“What’s your problem now, Tony?”

“What’s my problem?! I’ll tell you what’s my problem. Why are you pushing Rogers so hard? I have to tell you, seeing him every day crying over his knee is not good for my morale, either. He couldn’t even sleep last night! You do realize that if he busts that knee again he won’t win anything for you, don’t you?” he finishes, chest heaving, hands balled up in fists.

“I do realize that,” Fury replies calmly. “So maybe you could tell your boyfriend over there to listen to me once in a while instead of trying to kill himself doing quads over and over.”

“He’s not my… wait, what?” Tony can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’d laugh at Steve’s hypocrisy if the situation weren’t so serious. “He gave me the same fucking advice not three weeks ago and now he’s…” Tony ends the sentence with a helpless gesture.”I’m going to kill him.”

“Maybe that’s what he needs, a bit of tough love from someone he can relate to. I actually wanted to talk to you about that but then you barged in here and yelled at me, so I let you vent.”

Tony runs his hand over the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he offers. Fury just dismisses it with a wave of his hand. 

“Nah, I wanted you two to get along, so I’m glad you care enough to get this angry. Now, if you could kill Steve later and now channel all that rage into skating, that would be great.”

Tony smiles at him before retreating to the locker room to put on his skates.

**

When Tony comes back to the apartment, Steve is sitting on the couch reading a book. He looks up when he hears Tony come in and smiles brightly at him. “Hey! I made some lunch. Or early dinner, however you want to look at it. It’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“So I take it you’re feeling better?” Tony asks, ignoring the food talk. 

“Yup, much better,” Steve replies cheerfully.

“Good, because I really need to yell at you,” Tony says ominously, drops his duffel bag on the floor and steps right in front of Steve. Smile fades from Steve’s face at Tony’s words as he looks up at him from the couch. 

Tony takes a deep breath, not letting the puppy eyes get to him. This is important.

“Okay, here goes. What exactly do you think you’re doing? Trying to cripple yourself? Are you so hell-bent on ending your career at twenty-three?”

“Tony, I’m just trying to get better. Prepare for the Nationals and get my sponsors back. I can’t do it without working hard, you know that.”

Tony tries to remember why exactly did he ever think that Rogers wasn’t dumb. “Do you remember what you told me three weeks ago? About not forcing things to happen? And I wasn’t even injured.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s different. You don’t need to prove anything, your name is already famous. You have sponsors flocking to you even if you don’t win. But I…”

“Hold it, big guy,” Tony interrupts him, trying to stay calm but already seeing spots in front of his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying, because if you’re implying that I’m a shitty skater riding on my father’s name you will get better acquainted with my skates that you would ever like to, and then the knee will be the least of your problems.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he reaches out for Tony, but Tony takes a step back. “No! Oh my God, Tony, no. It came out wrong, I just mean… Jesus.” Steve sighs and rubs his eyes. Tony just stands there, arms folded on his chest and a burning feeling of anger seething inside of his chest. He’s very curious how Rogers wants to wriggle his way out of this one.

“What I mean is, I would like to stand on my own two feet again instead of mooching off other people. That’s all,” Steve explains, raising both hands in a placating gesture, like Tony is an animal that needs to be pacified. All it does is make Tony more angry, and he doesn’t even care if he’s being reasonable anymore.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” he all but growls at Steve. “Well, I’m sorry that living with me is such a hardship for you, I will do my best to not be in your way anymore.”

Steve stares at him with a shocked expression on his face. “What? How even—No, I—Tony! That’s not what I meant at all. What are we even arguing about?” His arm twitches, like he wants to try to touch Tony again but then thinks better of it. Good for him, he wouldn’t be able to skate well with one arm bitten off.

Tony hopes that the look he gives Steve conveys all that he isn’t saying.

“Tony, do you _want_ me to move out?”

…Or not.

“Because I can, I’m sorry, I know you like your space. I’ll go, I just… I’m sorry.”

Dammit. How did he go from wanting to kick Steve into taking better care of himself to kicking him out on the street? Congratulations, Stark, you’ve outdone yourself again.

Steve has already turned away from Tony, looking for his things, when Tony thinks it would be a good idea to speak.

“No,” he says quietly, but Steve hears him. He looks at him, expression unreadable. “I don’t want you to move out,” Tony clarifies, and before Steve can react, Tony disappears in his bedroom and doesn’t emerge for the rest of the day.

**

Tony makes a point of completely ignoring Steve’s existence for the next few days. If Rogers wants to destroy his knee and flush his career down the toilet, that’s his business, but Tony doesn’t have to pretend to like it. It turns out yet again that Tony is not a friend material, unable to even stop his friend – or whatever – from deliberately hurting himself. What’s the point in even trying.

It’s not hard to pretend Steve doesn’t exist, they both are used to keeping to themselves anyway. It’s not like they even hung out together, not counting that one night that Tony’s already forgotten about. Did his best, anyway. What proves itself more difficult is pretending that Steve’s food doesn’t exist.

Seriously, seems like EVERYTHING in the fridge, freezer and cupboards is either bought by Steve or cooked by Steve. If Tony wants to ignore it, he has to either go grocery shopping on his own or not eat at all.

That shouldn’t be difficult. He used to go for _days_ relying only on Starbuck lattes and he was fine. He’ll survive.

He ignores the frowny faces Steve makes at him when Tony enters the kitchen in the morning on the third day in a row and only takes a mug of coffee.

His training sessions go a lot better when he doesn’t have to worry about Rogers on top of his own issues. As he gets more confident, he trains harder, and finally starts believing that maybe he can finally win something substantial this season and shove it down the throats of everybody who thinks that his only asset is his name.

Starting with Rogers.

“Can I do one run-through of my short?” Tony asks Fury at the end of his session. “I feel like I’m really getting the hang of that quad lutz. If I land it in competition they’ll all be eating my ice shavings.”

“That made absolutely no sense,” Fury says, amused. “You sure you feel up to it? It’s been a long session and no offense, but you’re dripping sweat on the ice.”

Tony is already on the center of the ice. “I’m fine. Music, please!”

**

The next thing Tony is aware of is sunshine on his face and a _lot_ of white. He opens his eyes slowly, feeling as if his head was stuffed with cotton. He blinks a few times, trying to take in and make sense of his surroundings.

He appears to be in a hospital.

“Tony!” he hears a breathless exclamation and then somebody’s hand clutches his tightly. Tony turns his head to the side with some effort. Steve Rogers is sitting by his bed, a small, uncertain smile on his lips. “You’re awake. Finally,” he states, sounding relieved.

“What happened?” Tony rasps out. Steve squeezes his hand even tighter. Tony’s not strong enough to yank it free, and besides, he doesn’t really want to do that. He’ll ponder that particular thought later, when he feels more alive.

“You collapsed during training. You haven’t been eating for three days, have you?”

“I… might have not.” Tony admits. “Help me sit up?”

Steve lets go of his hand to wrap one arm around Tony’s torso and pull him up, arranging the pillows with his free hand. He doesn’t reclaim Tony’s hand when he sits back down.

Tony reclines against the pillows and closes his eyes with a wince. His head is pounding, and he wants nothing more than to just go back to sleep.

Thankfully, Steve gets the hint. “I’ll let you rest. And let your doctor know you’re awake. Just, Tony?”

Tony opens one eye to look at him. Steve’s standing by his bed, a serious expression on his face. 

“Hmm?” Tony inquires.

“Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again. You have no idea how worried I was.”

“Mmm, deal. But only if you stop trying to kill your knee,” Tony mutters, and Steve laughs softly. “Wait, hold on. You were worried? Why would you be worried? You don’t even like me. I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says fondly and leans down to press his lips to Tony’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will go up in the next chapter. Just a heads-up.


	4. Chapter 4

It doesn’t last long, just a soft, chaste kiss that still leaves Tony breathless, speechless and confused. Because, _what?_ When did Steve start to like him that way? When did _he_ start liking Steve that way? What exactly is happening?

While Tony’s pondering these questions, Steve pulls away and takes a step back, apparently intending to let Tony rest like he promised. Which, of course, isn’t going to happen after _this_ , so Tony acts quickly and grabs Steve’s wrist before he can move further away and pulls him back towards the bed.

“Don’t even think about going now,” Tony says in a low but still weak voice. He keeps tugging at Steve’s arm until Steve gets the hint and sits down on the edge of Tony’s bed, face level with his, sparkly blue eyes watching him with an expression Tony can’t quite pinpoint. Tony lifts the hand that isn’t clutching Steve’s wrist and curls it around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him forward until he can join their lips again. 

The kiss is different this time, slow and lingering, and still not enough. Steve is right _there_ , a warm and solid presence that Tony didn’t even know he needed. Tony tries to get closer, get _more_ , and the keening, wanting sounds he makes in his throat seem to set something off in Steve, because he abruptly wraps his free arm around Tony to pull him closer and finally deepens the kiss.

When they break apart, Steve pulls his wrist out of Tony’s grip and cups the side of his face, caressing gently. “Tony, you need to rest,” he says, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. Tony just shakes his head in reply.

Steve chuckles and pulls away, hand still resting on Tony’s cheek. “Get some sleep. I’ll be around when you wake up. I’ll take you home. Okay?” he asks with a warm smile that melts something inside of Tony. He wants to say something, but all he can do is nod. Steve helps him lie back down and presses one last kiss to Tony’s forehead before he goes.

Tony sleeps better than he has in a long time.

**

When they get back to the apartment, Steve insists on Tony going back to bed right away.

“But I had plenty of rest!” Tony protests. “The doctor said I was fine. I don’t need rest. Steeeeeve,” Tony drawls, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes and sneaking his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve sighs, exasperated, but brings his hands up to rest on Tony’s shoulder blades, so Tony counts that as a win. “Why don’t we finish what we started instead?” he suggests, trailing his lips along Steve’s jaw line. Steve has a really nice jaw line.

“Don’t you think we should – ah! – talk first?” Steve asks when Tony’s lips move down to mouth at his neck, but he holds Tony a bit tighter. 

“Uh-uh. Later. Please?” Tony pleads, and he can literally feel Steve give in. 

“Fine. Just… maybe not in the hallway?” Steve suggests, and Tony just grins and tugs him by the hand towards his bedroom. The room is a mess, but he wasn’t quite expecting that kind of company, and he hopes to distract Steve anyway.

He starts with kissing Steve again. He’s been itching to do that ever since they shared the moment at the hospital, and this time Tony intends to make the most of it. He sucks and teases at Steve’s lower lip until Steve moans and opens his mouth to him, letting Tony deepen the kiss and turn it hot and passionate. 

Tony maneuvers Steve slowly towards the bed, then pushes him gently until Steve sinks down onto it, tugging Tony with him and laying him carefully on top of the covers. Tony can’t help thinking that Steve is treating him like something fragile, like he’s afraid to hurt him if he touches him more firmly.

“Hey,” Tony says with a smirk. “I won’t break, you know. I’m not that delicate.”

Steve smiles and climbs on top of Tony, kissing him again. “Just humor me,” he murmurs between kisses. “I’m still not done worrying.”

“Well, you could at least worry with less clothes on,” Tony suggests, tugging on the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. Steve obliges, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it away. Tony has seen Steve shirtless before, but not this close and this intimately. He runs his hands down Steve’s sides and over his abs almost reverently, coaxing a series of shivers out of him. “Damn, you’re gorgeous,” Tony whispers. “Come on, come here,” he motions for Steve, urging him down so he can kiss him again. Tony doesn’t think he can ever get enough of that.

Steve apparently feels the same way, as he starts trailing kisses across Tony’s jaw and down his neck, at the same time sliding his hands under Tony’s shirt. Tony doesn’t even register when the rest of their clothes come off and then it’s just skin on skin, breathless kisses and touches that with every second turn less gentle and more demanding.

 

“You wanted to talk,” Tony reminds Steve quietly when they lie in his bed together afterwards, half-asleep and cuddled up under the blankets. Tony has never been much of a cuddler, but then again, he never had Steve Rogers in his bed before.

“Hmmm,” Steve acknowledges and tightens his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “I don’t really remember what I wanted to talk about,” he confesses, nuzzling at Tony’s temple.

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Well then, let me ask you something,” he starts, turning in the circle of Steve’s arms to face him. Steve looks at him questioningly. “Or not. Nevermind.” Tony changes his mind and looks away.

“Hey, no, wait,” Steve insists, putting one hand on the side of Tony’s face and forcing him to look at Steve again. “What is it?”

Tony shakes his head dismissively. “Nothing, it’s stupid. I wanted to ask you how long did you want to do that with me, but then I remembered that I’m not a teenage girl.”

Steve smiles, but looks thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he decides. “For a few years, maybe?”

“What? How… why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I… didn’t think you liked me very much. Or at all,” Steve says, looking down.

“Oh. That.” Tony has never felt like a bigger dick in his life. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he says softly and kisses Steve’s cheekbone. “I know I can be a dick, and I don’t always know what’s good for me, as I managed to prove conclusively earlier today.”

Steve looks at him with an unhappy frown, and that is just unacceptable. “No, that... that was my fault.” When Tony gives him an incredulous look, Steve sighs and continues. “I shouldn’t have made you so angry. That was stupid and unnecessary and I’m sorry.”

“Huh. I think that’s the first time ever that somebody apologizes to me for my own dickish behavior.”

“I deserved that. Everything you said. And I shouldn’t have brought up your father. Truth is, you’re twice the skater he ever was, and an infinitely better person.”

“Aww, stop it, you’re making me blush,” Tony teases, but his heart swells up at Steve’s words. 

“I always liked you,” Tony confesses after a few moments of silence. “I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, because I was jealous. You were always perfect, so much better than me, and I couldn’t be you. So, yeah, I acted… like I acted. And when you moved here I got scared you’d become Fury’s new golden boy and I’d end up left out in the cold. Stupid, I know,” he says before Steve can interrupt him. “But that’s just how I am. Fucked up. And it would have been so much easier if you were as terrible as I made you out to be, but no. You’re actually perfect.” Tony eyes Steve with a fond smile.

Steve hugs Tony close in response, and Tony goes willingly, snuggling into his chest with a contented sigh. “You will never be left out, Tony,” Steve whispers right into Tony’s ear. “Not by Nick, and not by me. You’re so much better than you think you are.” 

Tony makes a skeptical sound. 

“No, you are,” Steve insists, running his hands over Tony’s back. “And you have to believe me, because I’m never wrong. I’m just that perfect.”

Tony shakes with laughter and presses a kiss to Steve’s chest. “Well played, Rogers.”


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later, Tony wants to kill Fury.

Their coach gathers them in the locker room the day Tony goes back to his training after his accident. 

“Listen,” he says in a calm, patient voice that always means he’s being really serious. “I’m very happy for you two, although I must say I didn’t expect you to get along THAT well. I just want you to know that it’s not a problem, you’re both adults and you know what you’re doing. BUT. I’m your coach, and I say you have to save all your energy for skating only, at least until Nationals. You can kiss and you can hold hands, but that’s all you do. Understood?”

Tony would be very amused at the way Steve’s face turns red during Fury’s speech if he weren’t busy processing what he’s just heard. Did Fury just seriously _ban_ him from having sex?

“You never had any objections before, when I dated someone,” he observes, voice level.

“That’s because I didn’t have the energy to keep track of your one night stands, Tony. You’re going to listen to me this time, this competition is important to both of you, and I won’t let you blow it.”

“Literally.” Tony murmurs.

“Tony!” Steve chastises him. Fury looks unamused.

“I’m done arguing with you. I trust Steve’s judgment on this one. Now, get your skates and haul your ass out on the ice.”

**

Tony is calmer when he gets back home, hours of skating always have that effect on him. He doesn’t even know what exactly got him so wound up – it’s not like he’s not used to Fury controlling every aspect of his life. That’s the price of having a good coach: you want results – you have to make sacrifices.

Except Tony gets all of the sacrifices and none of the results.

He managed to push these thoughts aside while he was skating, but now they’re rushing back to him, and Steve’s concerned expression when Tony walks into the living room just sets him off again.

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve asks softly, walking up to him and placing his hands on Tony’s upper arms in a comforting gesture. 

Tony gently but decidedly pushes him away. “No. No, I’m not. I’m fucking sick of people directing every moment of my life and me not getting anything out of it.” Tony sinks down on the couch with an annoyed huff. Steve perches on the edge of the cushion by his side, fidgeting as if he wanted to reach out and touch him.

Oh, right, they _can’t_.

Tony slumps forward and rubs his palms over his face. “Steve, I’m frustrated. Nothing’s going right. Nothing. I eat like a rabbit, I barely ever drink, I have a bedtime like a freaking preschooler, and now that I have a boyfriend, I can’t even be with him. And for what?”

“I know. It’s hard for me too. But it will be worth it, you know?”

Tony scoffs at Steve’s earnest tone. “Yeah? When? Because I’ve been told just that since I was a kid, and it sure as hell hasn’t paid off yet.”

“Hey, don’t say that. You were a World Champion!”

“A _junior_ World Champion. It’s what they tease you with when you’re young and naïve only to kick you in the ass when you go senior.”

Tony hears Steve sigh and feels him wrap an arm around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him close. Tony doesn’t shake him off, but doesn’t lean into it, either.

“And I thought Fury trusted your judgment. We can’t do that.”

Steve jerks his arm away. “I’m not trying to have sex with you, Tony! It’s just—I thought—We’re still… together, aren’t we?”

Tony shrugs. “I guess. Though we might as well be just roommates, there’s no fucking difference now.” Tony kicks himself mentally for saying that the second the words leave his lips. He has a long and infamous history of saying things he doesn’t mean and being too much of a stubborn idiot to take them back.

“Of course there’s a difference!” Steve exclaims, standing up. “How can you even—There’s a _world_ of difference to me! You barely talked to me before that, barely _looked_ at me… oh.”

Tony isn’t looking at him now. Stubborn. Idiot. 

“This is all it is for you, isn’t it?” Steve says, and Tony’s heart breaks at his defeated tone. “Just sex, not even—not even friends with benefits, because you never considered me your friend.”

Tony knows Steve is waiting for him to deny it, and he _wants_ to. But perhaps it’ll be easier on both of them if he doesn’t, if things get back to… normal, Tony guesses. Silent days and lonely nights. That’s what he’s used to, and that’s what feels comfortable. Look at him, a few days with a boyfriend and everything’s already falling apart. He’s clearly not cut out for relationships, so why postpone the inevitable when he can save them both some heartache right now?

“If that’s what you think,” Tony starts, “then maybe we should do that. Be just roommates. It will be good for my _skating_.”

Steve shoots him a betrayed look before he storms off to lock himself in Tony’s bedroom. Tony doesn’t even protest.

**

Tony starts spending as little time as possible in his – their – apartment. It leaves him with an uncomfortable amount of time to think. He though that not seeing Steve’s sad, betrayed face would make forgetting about their short-lived relationship easier for him, but no such luck. He keeps picturing his face, his eyes, he remembers the feeling he had inside every time Steve hugged him or kissed him. He wonders if it was mutual. 

He hopes not. And he’s probably right – Steve didn’t even get angry when they broke up. He just got kind of… subdued, but really, it wasn’t that different from the way things were before. So, all is good. They can move on.

It’s seeing Steve all the time when they finally go to Nationals that’s sheer torture. Thankfully, somebody had the presence of mind not to room them together. Still, there are endless practice sessions, meet-and-greets, and not to mention the fans who somehow already got wind of their relationship - just not of its end - and now insist on taking pictures with both of them.

Tony decides to grin and bear it, or rather – Fury has decided that for him, as it was good press.

Tony couldn’t care less about any of it when his heart clenches painfully every time he sees Steve.

Steve is obviously over him already – chatting with fans, giving them his perfect, shiny smile, behaving more like a movie star than an athlete. It’s understandable that he wants to attract attention, this competition is his big comeback. Still, Tony feels jealous for every bit of Steve’s attention and angry at himself for willingly pushing it away when he had it.

But it’s too late now, anyway.

**

It’s when Steve nails his long program and wins the gold medal that Tony decides that no, it can’t be too late.

Steve is _happy_ , more so than Tony ever saw him, practically _jumping_ from joy in the kiss &cry and hugging Fury forcefully. He’s smiling so widely it makes the skin around his eyes crinkle, and Tony can’t tear his eyes away from him. 

Tony is so entranced by that sight that he doesn’t even notice that he’s won the bronze medal. He can barely breathe when he realizes just how very much in love he is with Steve. And how he screwed it all up.

“Congratulations, Tony, solid job!” Fury says, wrapping both his arms around Tony and hugging him tightly. 

“Thanks, Nick, I did my best,” Tony says with a forced smile when Fury lets go of him.

“Oh, we haven’t seen your best yet, boy. But you keep this up and you will blow the roof of any place in no time.” Fury grins and pats him on the shoulder before he walks away.

**

Tony spends the night before the gala plotting ways to win Steve back.

He thought he was close at the medal ceremony earlier that day, when Tony stepped up to Steve for the usual congratulatory handshake before taking his place on the podium. Steve smiled at him, but at Tony got close, he realized that the smile was not real, and just there for the cameras.

Fine. Tony might be quick to screw things up for himself and other, but he’s not one to back down from a challenge. 

He only has one opportunity. After Nationals, Steve will most certainly move out from his apartment and Tony will only see him at competitions, if he’s lucky. So, the gala it is.

Tony grins to himself as an idea takes shape in his mind.

**

Steve’s and his exhibitions are four programs apart, but Steve still has to hang around for the closing number. Nonetheless, Tony has to make sure Steve watches his program. He can see why he might not want to. 

He could send Steve a text, but there’s a risk that it will be deleted without reading. And he can’t see Fury anywhere. So, just before Tony is scheduled to appear on the ice, he grabs the arm of the silver medalist. “Hey. Would you do me a favor? Make sure Steve watches my program, okay? If he asks, tell him he’ll get it when he sees it. Thank you so much, you’re a doll.”

“Sure, no problem,” the guys says, and all Tony can do now is follow through with his plan, trusting that Steve will watch and see it for what it is.

Thankfully, Tony is good at improvisation. Competitions are all about programs so rehearsed that you can do them in your sleep, but exhibitions are a whole other story – you can come up with anything, you can fall, you can stumble, and as long as you’re having fun, the audience is right there with you.

So, changing the program at the last second wasn’t really difficult. It’s the thought of this being the only shot he has at righting things with Steve that gives Tony that tight, nervous feeling in his stomach. No time for that now, though, because he’s being announced right then.

He steps onto the ice, and lets [the music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhRuIqIy7Iw) speak for him.

The audience is delighted, cheering and throwing flowers onto the ice. But Tony doesn’t pay any attention to them, searching for Steve’s face. He sees him standing right by the gate leading onto the ice, and _there it is_ , the smile Tony has been longing for for _days_ , warm and slightly amused.

Steve waits till Tony puts on his blade guards (of course!) before grabbing him and kissing the breath out of him.

“You had to do it in the loudest and flashiest way possible, didn’t you?” he asks when they break apart for air.

“The only way I know how,” Tony replies, smiling. He’s so relieved he wants to either laugh, sing, or kiss Steve again. He goes for the latter, then he rests his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, arms wound around him in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, just for Steve to hear. “Please take me back?”

Steve kisses his temple. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone missed the link in the text, the song Tony skated to was "Too Lost in You" by Sugababes.
> 
> The story is technically complete, but I promised someone an epilogue, so stay tuned - there will be more.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a party, lots of booze, and even more sappines than before.

“Your place or mine?” Tony asks as they leave the locker rooms after the gala is wrapped up. Tony hasn’t taken his hands off Steve ever since his confession of a program - not even during the final group number, to other skaters’ woe and the audience’s delight - and Steve’s not exactly complaining.

“Um, actually…” Steve starts, and Tony drops Steve’s hand he’s been holding, giving Steve a confused look. Steve quickly catches Tony’s hand again and squeezes it reassuringly. “No, no, wait. I just mean I promised to be somewhere else tonight.”

“And where is that?” Tony inquires, but his eyes are softer and less apprehensive. 

“Clint and Bruce are having a party to celebrate the medals and… everything. Everyone’s invited.”

“I didn’t know that.” Tony frowns, but then he shrugs. “But I haven’t exactly been socializing. Okay then, come find me when it’s over?”

“What? Oh hell no, Tony, you’re coming with me,” Steve says, and adds his best puppy eyes for good measure. What? He has to use this trick while it works, until Tony learns to see right through him.

Sure enough, Tony rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine! Although I’m pretty sure nobody wants me there.”

Steve turns to face Tony and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I want you there,” he says emphatically. “And afterwards? I’m all yours,” he whispers, leaning close, and feels a shiver run through Tony’s body.

“There’d better be booze,” Tony says, smiling, as they walk to the hotel hand in hand.

**

“Aw crap, look what Steve dragged in!” Clint exclaims as soon as he spots Steve and Tony walking through the door. 

“I love you too, Barton,” Tony replies with a cheeky grin. “How’s that gold working out for ya? Not too heavy for your big head?” he asks, and Steve knows that this is Tony Stark for “congratulations, you deserve it.”

Steve expected more people to be here, but he guesses it’s not the only after party in the hotel. Just a moment earlier he saw another group of skaters heading downstairs to the hotel bar with Thor Odinson’s brother, Loki. Thor is here, though, sitting on the edge of one of the two twin beds with his girlfriend and ice dancing partner, Jane. They’re talking to Clint and Natasha, who are occupying the only armchair in the room, Natasha sitting comfortably in the center and Clint perched on one of the armrests. Each of them has a beer bottle in hand. The guest count is completed by Bruce Banner, Pepper Potts and Maria Hill, who are sitting on the carpet in the corner, deep in conversation over a shared bottle of red wine.

“Hey, Tony!” Bruce notices them, and waves for Tony to come over and join them. Tony smiles at him, and then eyes Steve questioningly. 

“Go ahead,” Steve says. “Catch up, I’ll be right over there with the guys.”

“I’ll be with you in a second,” Tony assures him, like he feels the need to explain himself. “I just had a bet with Banner that I would do five vodka shots in a row if I won a medal. And well…” he gestures toward the corner where Bruce is waving a big, still sealed bottle of clear liquor at them.

“Where did he even get that? He’s not twenty-one yet.”

“Oh. Yeah, we made that bet at the Grand Prix Final, and we scammed one bottle off some Russian skaters as an incentive. Then just smuggled it here.”

“What have I gotten myself into…” Steve mutters, shaking his head. Tony grins at him and walks away to join Bruce on the carpeted floor.

Steve sits down on the bed next to Thor and Jane, who immediately embrace him, congratulating him once again on his victory.

“You want a beer, my friend? Wine? Maybe a shot? We have everything,” Thor offers, but Steve just shakes his head. 

“No thanks, I don’t really feel up to it. Besides, somebody has to drag Tony back to his room after he gets hammered with Bruce,” Steve says, smiling and looking in the direction where Tony and Bruce are animatedly discussing something over the still unopened bottle.

“So, you and Stark, huh?” Natasha asks, eyeing him with badly hidden amusement. "Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just bitch about your breakup yesterday?”

“I did, but… you saw his exhibition, right?”

“Well, damn. I didn’t picture you to be susceptible to grand romantic gestures,” Clint says with a grin. “Oh, no, wait, that’s exactly what you are.”

Steve feels himself blush. Seriously, he needs to control that somehow, or he will never be able to talk about Tony in public. “It’s not just— I mean, it’s Tony, I just--”

“Oh please, I had him at ‘hello’,” Tony interrupts, jumping on the bed and hugging Steve’s shoulders from behind. 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, pretty much, what he said,” he turns his head to the side so he can press a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

‘Ugh,” Natasha says. “Get a room. I’m too young to get diabetes.”

“Hey, what happened to your shots?” Steve asks Tony.

“We decided to make it more interesting,” Tony replies, propping his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “You guys up for a drinking game?”

“Depends what game you have in mind,” Clint says, looking at Tony suspiciously.

“Oh, just a few rounds of good old-fashioned ‘never have I ever’,” Tony answers in an innocent tone that fools no one.

They sit down in a circle, Tony next to Steve and leaning heavily against his side, head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve wraps one arm around him, grateful for Tony’s apparent need for closeness – he himself is reluctant right now to be apart from Tony, but at the same time he doesn’t want to crowd him now that their relationship has been granted a fresh start. The fact that, for once, Tony seems to crave affection instead of pushing it away is filling Steve’s heart with a feeling similar to the one he had earlier on the podium, with the gold medal around his neck.

“Okay, everybody knows the rules,” Bruce says, handing everyone a plastic cup. “We don’t have shot glasses, but these will do,” he explains, pouring a small amount of vodka into each cup. “Tony, the game was your idea, so you go first.”

“Hmmm…” Tony murmurs, thinking. “Never have I ever… hit on another skater while my girlfriend was in the same room.”

“Asshole,” Clint mutters before downing his shot begrudgingly. Simultaneously, he gets elbowed in the ribs by Natasha. “Ow! I didn’t do anything! It’s not my fault that Stark can’t tell the difference between normal human interaction and flirting. And you said you’d never tell!” He points an accusatory finger at Tony.

“I didn’t tell, I just said what I didn’t do,” Tony clarifies and waggles his eyebrows. Thankfully, Natasha seems more amused than angry, so the game moves on.

It’s Bruce’s turn. He refills Clint’s cup, and then pauses to think. “Never have I ever… lied to my coach about keeping my diet.”

Nobody drinks but Thor. “What?” He says after swallowing the vodka without so much as a grimace. “She wouldn’t let me eat pop tarts. Unacceptable.”

The game spirals from there, and Tony drinks his five shots soon enough. 

Then it’s Steve’s turn, and at that point he’s already pleasantly buzzed, inhibitions lowered, and Tony’s body is still pressed agains his side, a warm and reassuring weight. Steve knows he’s not exactly following the rules, but what was that Clint said about romantic gestures? Steve feels he has a point to prove, so he says: “Never have I ever been head over heels in love with another skater ,” and promptly downs his shot. So does Tony, giving Steve the most genuine smile this evening, and so do Thor, Jane, Clint and Natasha. The rest utter theatrical “awwwwwww-s” and make mocking gagging gestures right afterwards.

“You want to get out of here?” Steve whispers to Tony. He’s been waiting long enough, and this night of staying close to each other has reminded him just as much he’s missed Tony. Not that he needed a reminder.

Tony nods, so they get up, say their goodbyes, and leave the room.

“Your place or mine?” Tony asks for the second time this evening.

“Mine is closer. And probably cleaner,” Steve replies, and Tony laughs. “And Tony?” Steve prompts, taking his hand. “I hope you realize that now that I have you back, I’m keeping you, right?”

Tony grabs the back of Steve’s neck and kisses him firmly on the mouth, the other hand snaking around Steve’s waist. “You’d better,” Tony mutters against Steve’s lips and kisses him again.


End file.
